It was summer in the land of Denmark, and though for
most of the year the country looks flat and ugly, it was
beautiful now. The wheat was yellow, the oats were
green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in, and from
the old ruined house which nobody lived in, down to the
edge of the canal, was a forest of great burdocks, so tall
that a whole family of children might have dwelt in them
and never have been found out.

It was under these burdocks that a duck had built
herself a warm nest, and was now sitting all day on six
pretty eggs. Five of them were white, but the sixth,
which was larger than the others, was of an ugly grey
colour. The duck was always puzzled about that egg,
and how it came to be so different from the rest.
Other birds might have thought that when the duck
went down in the morning and evening to the water to
stretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy mother might
have been on the watch, and have popped her egg into
the nest. But ducks are not clever at all, and are not
quick at counting, so this duck did not worry herself
about the matter, but just took care that the big egg
should be as warm as the rest.

This was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever
laid, and, to begin with, she was very pleased and proud,
and laughed at the other mothers, who were always
neglecting their duties to gossip with each other or to
take little extra swims besides the two in the morning
and evening that were necessary for health. But at
length she grew tired of sitting there all day. ‘Surely
eggs take longer hatching than they did,’ she said to
herself; and she pined for a little amusement also. Still,
she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in
them to die none of her friends would ever speak to her
again; so there she stayed, only getting off the eggs
several times a day to see if the shells were cracking—which
may have been the very reason why they did not
crack sooner.

She had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and
fifty times, when, to her joy, she saw a tiny crack on two
of them, and scrambling back to the nest she drew the
eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved for the
whole of that day. Next morning she was rewarded by
noticing cracks in the whole five eggs, and by midday
two little yellow heads were poking out from the shells.
This encouraged her so much that, after breaking the
shells with her bill, so that the little creatures could get
free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night upon the
nest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were
empty, and ten pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the
green world.

Now the duck had been carefully brought up, and did
not like dirt, and, besides, broken egg shells are not at all
comfortable things to sit or walk upon; so she pushed the
rest out over the side, and felt delighted to have some
company to talk to till the big egg hatched. But day
after day went on, and the big egg showed no signs of
cracking, and the duck grew more and more impatient,
and began to wish to consult her husband, who never
came.

‘I can’t think what is the matter with it,’ the duck
grumbled to her neighbour who had called in to pay her
a visit. ‘Why I could have hatched two broods in the
time that this one has taken!’

‘Let me look at it,’ said the old neighbour. ‘Ah, I
thought so; it is a turkey’s egg. Once, when I was
young, they tricked me to sitting on a brood of turkey’s
eggs myself, and when they were hatched the creatures
were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to
swim. I have no patience when I think of it.’

‘Well, I will give it another chance,’ sighed the duck,
‘and if it does not come out of its shell in another twenty-four
hours, I will just leave it alone and teach the rest
of them to swim properly and to find their own food. I
really can’t be expected to do two things at once.’ And
with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the
middle of the nest.

All through the next day she sat on, giving up even
her morning bath for fear that a blast of cold might strike
the big egg. In the evening, when she ventured to peep,
she thought she saw a tiny crack in the upper part of the
shell. Filled with hope, she went back to her duties,
though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement.
When she woke with the first streaks of light she
felt something stirring under her. Yes, there it was at
last; and as she moved, a big awkward bird tumbled head
foremost on the ground.

There was no denying it was ugly, even the mother
was forced to admit that to herself, though she only said
it was ‘large’ and ‘strong.’ ‘You won’t need any teaching
when you are once in the water,’ she told him, with
a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his
back, and at his long naked neck. And indeed he did
not, though he was not half so pretty to look at as the
little yellow balls that followed her.

When they returned they found the old neighbour on
the bank waiting for them to take them into the duckyard.
‘No, it is not a young turkey, certainly,’ whispered
she in confidence to the mother, ‘for though it is lean
and skinny, and has no colour to speak of, yet there is
something rather distinguished about it, and it holds its
head up well.’

‘It is very kind of you to say so,’ answered the
mother, who by this time had some secret doubts of its
loveliness. ‘Of course, when you see it by itself it is all
right, though it is different, somehow, from the others.
But one cannot expect all one’s children to be beautiful!’

By this time they had reached the centre of the yard,
where a very old duck was sitting, who was treated with
great respect by all the fowls present.

‘You must go up and bow low before her,’ whispered
the mother to her children, nodding her head in the direction
of the old lady, ‘and keep your legs well apart, as
you see me do. No well-bred duckling turns in its toes.
It is a sign of common parents.’

The little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies
copy the movements of their mother, and the old lady
was quite pleased with them; but the rest of the ducks
looked on discontentedly, and said to each other:

‘Oh, dear me, here are ever so many more! The
yard is full already; and did you ever see anything quite
as ugly as that great tall creature? He is a disgrace to
any brood. I shall go and chase him out!’ So saying
she put up her feathers, and running to the big duckling
bit his neck.

The duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time
he had felt any pain, and at the sound his mother turned
quickly.

‘Leave him alone,’ she said fiercely, ‘or I will send for
his father. He was not troubling you.’

‘No; but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put
up with him,’ answered the stranger. And though the
duckling did not understand the meaning of the words,
he felt he was being blamed, and became more uncomfortable
still when the old Spanish duck who ruled the
fowl-yard struck in:

‘It certainly is a great pity he is so different from
these beautiful darlings. If he could only be hatched
over again!’

The poor little fellow drooped his head, and did not
know where to look, but was comforted when his mother
answered:

‘He may not be quite as handsome as the others, but
he swims better, and is very strong; I am sure he will
make his way in the world as well as anybody.’

‘Well, you must feel quite at home here,’ said the old
duck waddling off. And so they did, all except the duckling,
who was snapped at by everyone when they thought
his mother was not looking. Even the turkeycock, who
was so big, never passed him without mocking words,
and his brothers and sisters, who would not have noticed
any difference unless it had been put into their heads,
soon became as rude and unkind as the rest.

At last he could bear it no longer, and one day he fancied
he saw signs of his mother turning against him
too; so that night, when the ducks and hens were still
asleep, he stole away through an open door, and under
cover of the burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of
the canal, till he reached a wide grassy moor, full of soft
marshy places where the reeds grew. Here he lay down,
but he was too tired and too frightened to fall asleep, and
with the earliest peep of the sun the reeds began to rustle,
and he saw that he had blundered into a colony of wild
ducks. But as he could not run away again he stood
up and bowed politely.

‘You are ugly,’ said the wild ducks, when they had
looked him well over; ‘but, however, it is no business of
ours, unless you wish to marry one of our daughters,
and that we should not allow.’ And the duckling
answered that he had no idea of marrying anybody,
and wanted nothing but to be left alone after his long
journey.

So for two whole days he lay quietly among the
reeds, eating such food as he could find, and drinking the
water of the moorland pool, till he felt himself quite
strong again. He wished he might stay where he was
for ever, he was so comfortable and happy, away from
everyone, with nobody to bite him and tell him how ugly
he was.

He was thinking these thoughts, when two young
ganders caught sight of him as they were having their
evening splash among the reeds, looking for their
supper.

‘We are getting tired of this moor,’ they said, ‘and
to-morrow we think of trying another, where the lakes
are larger and the feeding better. Will you come with
us?’

‘Is it nicer than this?’ asked the duckling doubtfully.
And the words were hardly out of his mouth, when ‘Pif!
paf!’ and the two new-comers were stretched dead
beside him.

At the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes
flew into the air, and for a few minutes the firing continued.

Luckily for himself the duckling could not fly, and
he floundered along through the water till he could hide
himself amidst some tall ferns which grew in a hollow.
But before he got there he met a huge creature on four
legs, which he afterwards knew to be a dog, who stood
and gazed at him with a long red tongue hanging out of
his mouth. The duckling grew cold with terror, and
tried to hide his head beneath his little wings; but the
dog snuffed at him and passed on, and he was able to
reach his place of shelter.

‘I am too ugly even for a dog to eat,’ said he to himself.
‘Well, that is a great mercy.’ And he curled
himself up in the soft grass till the shots died away in
the distance.

When all had been quiet for a long time, and there
were only the stars to see him, he crept out and looked
about him.

He would never go near a pool again, never, thought
he; and seeing that the moor stretched far away in the
opposite direction from which he had come, he marched
bravely on till he got to a small cottage, which seemed
too tumbledown for the stones to hold together many
hours longer. Even the door only hung upon one hinge,
and as the only light in the room sprang from a tiny fire,
the duckling edged himself cautiously in, and lay down,
under a chair close to the broken door, from which he
could get out if necessary. But no one seemed to see
him or smell him; so he spent the rest of the night
in peace.

Now in the cottage dwelt an old woman, her cat, and
a hen; and it was really they, and not she, who were
masters of the house. The old woman, who passed all
her days in spinning yarn, which she sold at the nearest
town, loved both the cat and the hen as her own children,
and never contradicted them in any way; so it was their
grace, and not hers, that the duckling would have to
gain.

It was only next morning, when it grew light, that
they noticed their visitor, who stood trembling before
them, with his eye on the door ready to escape at any
moment. They did not, however, appear very fierce,
and the duckling became less afraid as they approached
him.

‘Can you lay eggs?’ asked the hen. And the duckling
answered meekly:

‘No; I don’t know how.’ Upon which the hen turned
her back, and the cat came forward.

‘Can you ruffle your fur when you are angry, or purr
when you are pleased?’ said she. And again the duckling
had to admit that he could do nothing but swim, which
did not seem of much use to anybody.

So the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman,
who was still in bed.

‘Such a useless creature has taken refuge here,’ they
said. ‘It calls itself a duckling; but it can neither lay
eggs nor purr! What had we better do with it?’

‘Keep it, to be sure!’ replied the old woman briskly.
‘It is all nonsense about it not laying eggs. Anyway,
we will let it stay here for a bit, and see what
happens.’

So the duckling remained for three weeks, and shared
the food of the cat and the hen; but nothing in the way
of eggs happened at all. Then the sun came out, and
the air grew soft, and the duckling grew tired of being in
a hut, and wanted with all his might to have a swim. And
one morning he got so restless that even his friends
noticed it.

‘What is the matter?’ asked the hen; and the duckling
told her.

‘I am so longing for the water again. You can’t think
how delicious it is to put your head under the water and
dive straight to the bottom.’

‘I don’t think I should enjoy it,’ replied the hen doubtfully.
‘And I don’t think the cat would like it either.’
And the cat, when asked, agreed there was nothing she
would hate so much.

‘I can’t stay here any longer, I must get to the water,’
repeated the duck. And the cat and the hen, who felt
hurt and offended, answered shortly:

‘Very well then, go.’

The duckling would have liked to say good-bye, and
thank them for their kindness, as he was polite by nature;
but they had both turned their backs on him, so he went
out of the rickety door feeling rather sad. But, in spite
of himself, he could not help a thrill of joy when he was
out in the air and water once more, and cared little for
the rude glances of the creatures he met. For a while
he was quite happy and content; but soon the winter came
on, and snow began to fall, and everything to grow very
wet and uncomfortable. And the duckling soon found
that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water, and quite
another to like being damp on land.

The sun was setting one day, like a great scarlet
globe, and the river, to the duckling’s vast bewilderment,
was getting hard and slippery, when he heard a sound of
whirring wings, and high up in the air a flock of swans
were flying. They were as white as the snow which had
fallen during the night, and their long necks with yellow
bills were stretched southwards, for they were going—they
did not quite know whither—but to a land where
the sun shone all day. Oh, if he only could have gone
with them! But that was not possible, of course; and
besides, what sort of companion could an ugly thing like
him be to those beautiful beings? So he walked sadly
down to a sheltered pool and dived to the very bottom,
and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could
dream of. But, all the same, he knew it wasn’t!

And every morning it grew colder and colder, and the
duckling had hard work to keep himself warm. Indeed,
it would be truer to say that he never was warm at all; and
at last, after one bitter night, his legs moved so slowly that
the ice crept closer and closer, and when the morning
light broke he was caught fast, as in a trap; and soon
his senses went from him.

A few hours more and the poor duckling’s life had been
ended. But, by good fortune, a man was crossing
the river on his way to his work, and saw in a moment
what had happened. He had on thick wooden shoes,
and he went and stamped so hard on the ice that it
broke, and then he picked up the duckling and tucked
him under his sheep-skin coat, where his frozen bones
began to thaw a little.

Instead of going on to his work, the man turned back
and took the bird to his children, who gave him a
warm mess to eat and put him in a box by the fire, and
when they came back from school he was much more
comfortable than he had been since he had left the old
woman’s cottage. They were kind little children, and
wanted to play with him; but, alas! the poor fellow had
never played in his life, and thought they wanted to tease
him, and flew straight into the milk-pan, and then
into the butter-dish, and from that into the meal-barrel,
and at last, terrified at the noise and confusion, right out
of the door, and hid himself in the snow amongst the bushes
at the back of the house.

He never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent
the rest of the winter. He only knew that he was very
miserable and that he never had enough to eat. But
by-and-by things grew better. The earth became softer,
the sun hotter, the birds sang, and the flowers once
more appeared in the grass. When he stood up, he felt
different, somehow, from what he had done before he
fell asleep among the reeds to which he had wandered
after he had escaped from the peasant’s hut. His body
seemed larger, and his wings stronger. Something pink
looked at him from the side of a hill. He thought he
would fly towards it and see what it was.

Oh, how glorious it felt to be rushing through the
air, wheeling first one way and then the other! He had
never thought that flying could be like that! The
duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink
cloud and found it was made up of apple blossoms
growing beside a cottage whose garden ran down to the
banks of the canal. He fluttered slowly to the ground
and paused for a few minutes under a thicket of syringas,
and while he was gazing about him, there walked slowly
past a flock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so
many months ago. Fascinated, he watched them one by
one step into the canal, and float quietly upon the waters
as if they were part of them.

‘I will follow them,’ said the duckling to himself; ‘ugly
though I am, I would rather be killed by them than suffer
all I have suffered from cold and hunger, and from the
ducks and fowls who should have treated me kindly.’
And flying quickly down to the water, he swam after them
as fast as he could.

It did not take him long to reach them, for they had
stopped to rest in a green pool shaded by a tree whose
branches swept the water. And directly they saw him
coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet him
with cries of welcome, which again the duckling hardly
understood. He approached them glad, yet trembling,
and turning to one of the older birds, who by this time
had left the shade of the tree, he said:

‘If I am to die, I would rather you should kill me. I
don’t know why I was ever hatched, for I am too ugly
to live.’ And as he spoke, he bowed his head and looked
down into the water.

Reflected in the still pool he saw many white shapes,
with long necks and golden bills, and, without thinking,
he looked for the dull grey body and the awkward skinny
neck. But no such thing was there. Instead, he beheld
beneath him a beautiful white swan!

‘The new one is the best of all,’ said the children when
they came down to feed the swans with biscuit and cake
before going to bed. ‘His feathers are whiter and his beak
more golden than the rest.’ And when he heard that, the
duckling thought that it was worth while having undergone
all the persecution and loneliness that he had passed through,
as otherwise he would never have known what it was to be
really happy.